Jesus drives
by Wingless Rain
Summary: This story will set you free, like the crusaders set the infidels' souls free during their glorious days. Feel His presence guide your path through life, like he guides those who have asked for forgiveness!
1. Jesus drives the bus

* * *

Jesus drives the bus 

-

This is not a parody, and never will be. Jesus had a hand in creating this piece, since he fuels us all, is a part of us all, and lends His divine radiance to everything that's ever been made, and ever will be made.  
All hail Jesus, the angels, god, the holy ghost, blue hedgehogs, and crazy japanese men for eternity and evermore.

God is indeed in the TV, but also everywhere else.  
He watches you masturbate. He sits by and stares at you as you work your lust out of your sinful flesh, only to have it return later.

You are sin. You are not Jesus or part of His divine grace.  
Or maybe you are, and he, too, is sinful and full of lies, since he's part of you, your choices, your dreams, and your imagination.

-

It was a cold Saturday night, and Sonic was in church, praying.

"Father, I have sinned," he confessed to the line of nuns and candles before him. "I enjoy sodomy too much for my own good."

The nuns looked shocked and awed, while Shadow spent some quality time molesting wheelchairs in the background. It was all part of Jesus' masterplan, of course.

"I talk to Satan, who lives in Sweden, daily," Sonic continued. "He says that talking to Satan is not a sin, and that Satan is part of Jesus, since Jesus is everyone, everywhere, and everything."

The paragraphs made little sense, but Sonic did not know this, and kept his eyes firmly locked on the long, hard, and eerie road ahead.

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned!" a priest magically appeared behind Sonic, armed with a whipe, made from fiber-optic cables. "Find me guilty of the life I feel within!"

If you concentrated hard enough, you could hear the unmistakable sound of a crying fool from Denmark somewhere in the distance.

"Repent!" the priest shouted. Two consecutive slashes from the whip turned Sonic's back into ground meat.

-

_Two hours of implied priest-rape, flagellation, and sexual situations later..._

"Wow!" Shadow cried out quite loudly, as if the exclamation mark didn't make that clear enough. "Never in my life have I seen such a well-endowed preacher! That guy should seriously consider starring in some sinful acts that don't involve preteens!"

"Damn right!" Sonic was happy, of course. The priest had fucked the sin right out of him; body, mind, and soul. He was saved, and never again would he need to worry about dropping straight down to Satan's residence.

As it was, the two heroes were simply standing around in a non-descript environment, doing nothing in particular, except wait for the bus. The bus to salvation!

"Hey, here comes the bus now!" both of them called out in unison.

It was a bus like no other, crafted from solid gold, and inlaid with countless diamonds and veins of platinum.  
The number was zero-zero-zero, and it flew on seven pairs of angel wings, always accompanied by the soothing sounds of harps and castrated men.

The righteous bus of holy purity pulled up to the heroes of vanity and sinful desires, its twin doors of absolution slowly sliding open.  
Out from the deliverer of crusaders flew Dotsie, because only christian people can ride Jesus' bus - thus, Dotsie did not belong. How did he get on it in the first place? Find out in 'Jesus drives the train!'

"Drop dead, sucka arab!" Jesus, son of god, muttered. Dotsie's unholy face of impurity collided quite hard with the sidewalk, and so it was, and so it shall ever be, that arabs are never supposed to ride Jesus' bus. The price of breaking this golden rule is a broken nose, two teeth, and a fractured cranium - are you willing to pay this price for one joy-ride on the holiest of vehicles!?

Didn't think so.

Jesus, now calmed down to the degree that his nostrils didn't emit air hot enough to melt steel, reached out both arms like only true fathers are capable of.  
"My precious lambs. Have you found your way to my, personal, fun-bus?"

It was a question that demanded an answer, and Shadow, obviously a sinner beyond compare, took one look at Jesus, mankind's savior number one, and then his eyes melted to fluid, for he was not worthy enough to gaze upon such a manifestation of unearthly good.

"Aye," Sonic replied, fueled by divine divinity, oblivious to his friend's loss of sight.

"Indeed!" Jesus boomed, the christmas lights mounted on his head kicking into life. He wore only the finest of the finest threads - suede, a golden shotgun, a cowboy hat, a thorned crown, and christmas lights. His attire, just like Shadow's desire to rape wheelchairs, was all part of his very own masterplan. "Then so be it, today and henceforth, that you will ride in my pimpin' transport of manlove, drugs, obvious wealth, and earthly pleasures! Come," he motioned for them to do his bidding, and they did so without hesitation, "join the wheels of your savior!"

But, lo and behold! Just as Shadow was about to step inside the paddy wagon, Jesus stopped him.  
"Shadow," the voice of the savior whispered, "your new, **_christian_**, name, is Omar!"

-

VT2 - 2006


	2. Jesus drives the train

* * *

Jesus drives the train 

-

It was just another day in Sonicland, and everyone, and everything, was happy, smiling, good, and downright righteous with the lord.  
However, there was a disturbance in the force - of god.

"Oh, why, oh, why!" Tails, age nine, admitted homosexual, lamented while beating himself in the head with a plank. He was hated by the world, you see, for his sexual orientation. "Why must I suffer so? What is wrong with sodomy, manlove, and cock worship?"

His parents didn't understand. How could they? They were the most christian parents on the planet, and didn't quite know what to make of the situation at hand! It was all so very wrong, and yet so very familiar - almost as if they themselves had, at one point in time, doubted their own path.

"Son," Tails senior had said, "have you tried not being gay?" Bible study didn't cure it, neither did ten hours alone with a crazy, nake- priest - a regular priest.

No, nothing worked.  
"How did I sin? When did I sin? Why has god, Jesus, and all the angels in heaven seen to it that I must suffer, when my dear friends get to live happy lives, free from this curse?" eventually, the plank snapped under the strainful torture of abuse and wailing. Thus it was that Tails decided to sit his ass down, inside the confines of something that could very well be a room. There's no description, because only sinners and beggars need description to see things clearly.

Because his path wasn't narrow and straight, Tails put on some mood music, in this case Metallica. Although their lyrics had been branded heresy and unchristian by several generations of church-going people, Tails still preferred them over the soulless, boring, repetitive, and dumb stuff that someone cleverly had labeled 'christian metal'  
"Oh, it's terrible!" he whined once more, for it was indeed something to whine about, over, and for. It's not easy being yourself, after all - it takes years of discipline, study, and self-denial to master 'being yourself.'

Priests know this. Priests are good doctors.

Tails let go of his misery when he realized he was being watched.

By Jesus!  
Christ!

"Oh, god!" he shouted, then promptly fell out of his chair.

Jesus did not like this remark, and showed his displeasure by pulling out his trusty golden shotgun, leveling it against Tails' pimpin' stereo complex, then blowing it to pieces with two shells, packed full of diamond shards.  
"Doncha be talkin' bout mah fatha, yo," to demonstrate his masculinity, Jesus kicked Tails in the groin, for no apparent reason. "Yall not a nigga, no, yall a wigga, an should be treated az such, yo!"

The savior reached a hand into his suede gear, retrieving a set of tickets, composed of pressed diamonds and nothing else. He threw one at Tails, an ct which opened up a nice forehead cut.  
"We be going to heaven, wigga!" no less than two-thousand angels sang out in a divine choir. "Wez gonna be traveling on the highway to heaven, and yall be going with me, aight?"

And thus, after almost ten minutes of nothing but idiocy, Tails realized the error of his ways.  
You can't save yourself if you don't believe in the lord of all, and when you behold him, you will know that you are dead, for no mortal can gaze upon His righteous shell of blessed divinity without passing into the afterlife.

"Thank you, Jesus," Tails sat up, his blue eyes now unclouded. "I have seen the error of my ways, and am ready to repent and better myself, for the good of all. I am a fag no more."

-

VT2 - 2006


	3. Jesus drives the bicycle

* * *

Jesus drives the bicycle 

-

Sonicland, late summer.  
It was sunny and dandy, as is so very usual in Sonicland.

A small gathering of people had gathered on a corner.  
Dotsie, fat muslim; Rouge, big-breasted bat; Corey, super saiyan supreme; Tails, transexual fox; Cream, child pornography super-star; Cheese, choir-chao number one; Eggman, jewish inventor.

Together, they form Team Christian.  
Power is supplied by Corey, flight comes solely from Tails, while Eggman funds all the team's operations around the world, using his immeasurable wealth. Should things take a turn for the worse, Dotsie is fully prepared to blow himself to bits, always with a death-defying 'Allahu Akbar!' Comic relief comes from Cream and Cheese.

Rouge is tits, and nothing more.

And lo! Just as the team prepared to move out and challenge the world leaders of bad taste and stupidity, a golden bicycle pulled up to them, ridden by the most righteous and esteemed of riders - I'm talking about Jesus, the Jesus, that Jesus, the one and only son of god!

"Whaddup, yall?" everyone who looked upon him knew that salvation was within reach. No longer would they have to fight for survival, or make all those tough choices - no! Things would take care of themselves, now, that Jesus was with them. Because religious superheroes have an unlimited supply of time on their hands, not to mention an unlimited patience.

"Oh, my lord and savior!" Tails called out, then fell to his knees in shocked awe. Jesus was, of course, decked out in suede, and his costumary combo of thorned crown, christmas lights, and cowboy hat.

"Shit, yo," as the bike came to a sudden halt, Jesus pulled out a blunt of titanic proportions. "Anyone o yall inter-e-sted in eternal salvation, an' a place next ta god, the almighty?" One breath was all it took, and the blunt was no more.

Heads were nodded, and Jesus' left arm made a wipe, sweeping motion.

Corey, hunk of a man, was the first to stir.  
"Mister Jesus, sir," his timid voice, reminiscent of fairies - or cyber elves - spoke, "will I get to beat up people in heaven?"

Jesus nodded.

Next up was Rouge, tits beyond compare.  
"Will my tits grow even larger in heaven?"

Jesus nodded once more.

Tails, finest of all dickgirls, and most experienced manlover known to humanity and furrydom in turn, took the time to get himself off the ground.  
"What's heaven's official stance on faggotry and masturbation?" his feminine voice inquired.

Jesus, wise beyond words and mortal comprehension, cocked his head from left to right.  
"If yo be forgiven, then yall be welcome in mah house, nigga, howeva," his divine gaze fell on Dotsie, "god does not take kindly to fat muslims, 'specially those dat blow themsefs up daily, yall ear!"

Thus it was that Dotsie melted to fluid, as if he'd just been struck by a plasma bolt.

Eggman tried to say something, but Jesus' agility score was more than twice that of the jew, and thus he got a second turn, which he used to fire lasers from his eyes. A second later, Eggman had been reduced to a total of ten neat chunks of carved flesh.

-

And from this story we learn that god and Jesus work in mysterious ways, and that you should be neither a greedy jew, nor a suicidal muslim. If you are, then chances are you are not going to heaven.

When you die.

If you die.

-

VT2 - 2006


	4. Jesus drives the spellchecker

* * *

Jesus drives the spellchecker 

-

All spelling errors are the property of Allah, and Jesus. You cannot flame me for writing this, since it's part of my faith - my religion.  
If you do, it means you're a fascist.

SEGA does not own the Sonic cast - Jesus does, since he's a part of SEGA. In fact, Jesus owns SEGA directly, because he's the shareholder of ninety-percent of SEGA's stocks.

-

VT2 - 2006


	5. Jesus drives the battlesuit

* * *

Jesus drives the XV-eighty-eight 'Broadside' Battlesuit 

-

It was yet another sunny day in Sonicland, or so it seemed to unquestioning eyes!

A silent war raged in absolute silence, between the forces of justice, good, and good taste, and the dark evil of shadowy blackness.

"Ahma tellz ya," Jesus, savior of humanity, not to mention super-star, called out from his vantage point deep within the armor plating of his trusty Broadside armor, which was crafted from solid gold "do not, ah repeat - DO NOT - question da justice and good delivered by mah railguns, or else you shalt feel their holy rage!"

It was more of a command than a general warning, however, Jesus stood mostly alone.

That is, if you don't count Michael Jackson, who was also mounted aboard an XV-eighty-eight. The only difference being that his suit was made out diamonds - yes, diamonds.  
You fucker! Of course he can outbling Jesus - he's Michael Jackson; the Smooth criminal, Moonwalker himself, in the plastic.

Shut up.

Anyway, also at Jesus' side was a sixties robot, known as Shadow Stalker.

"I ascertain this to equal exceedingly dysphemistic!" the robot whined, followed by almost two minutes of bleeps.

However, the robot was not to be long-lived, for the fattest muslim known to man rushed it, and, shortly thereafter, detonated itself in a blast of robot parts and flesh.

"Yo, honky!" Jesus was mad! The loss of one of his dear comrades was keenly felt, but it was an illusion! "Tol ya white rawbots can't dance, yo!"

Michael didn't say a word, but proceeded to perform a moonwalk. In his robot sui- armor.

Everyone was stunned with awe!

Then Shadow came to visit.  
"Here, lord of all," he gave Jesus a bouqet of flowers, but Jesus crushed it in one of his gold-plated hands, then leveled his railguns at the silly creature.

"That ain't weed!" Shadow turned to soup with a hyper-velocity whine, his earthly remains splattered all over Sonicland's endless fields of green, green grass. Not red, red wine.

And from this woeful tale, we learn that it's never a good idea to displease the son of god. Doing so may result in an unfortunate death, at the hands of twin-linked railguns.

To end things in a proper fashion, Michael Jackson and Jesus delivered some Bible blitz on the forces of evil, stole all their women, conquered the world using catchy music, converted all the muslims with the combined powers of diamond and gold, and proved the futility of violence by repeatedly grabbing their groins.

-

VT2 - 2006 Bob - 2006


	6. Jesus drives the jungle cock

* * *

Jesus drives the jungle cock 

-

Jesus was cruising through the streets of downtown Sonicland, riding his superior pimpmobile. Actually, he wasn't cruising so much as standing around on a corner, with a bunch of wannabe playahs.

"Mine is bigger!" Shadow proclaimed. Bob, on the other hand, didn't agree with the hedgehog's claim.

Two seconds later, he showed the world why his stage name was 'Long dong Obsidian.' So large that it made Shadow turn his back in shame and fear, so thick that Sonic fainted, and so black and perfect that Tails conceded defeat, despite being the best dickgirl ever.

Because Bob believed that words are for lesser creatures, he didn't say anything - he was perfectly comfortable standing there, mighty flesh in hand, and feeling like a king. Emperor, even, Emperor of mankind.

And immortal, to boot.

A smug grin crept onto the aryan chocolate warrior's face, then he noticed Jesus, who just stood there. The savior's smug rivaled the Emperor's, and things looked set for a conflict of epic - nay - apocalyptic proportions and scale.

"Ahma show yall something yall aint neva seen, yo," so spoke the savior, and thus it was that Sonicland vanished, for it would not be able to survive the offered onslaught. Jesus, divine and wise beyond measure, knew this.  
So did Bob, but he didn't really care.

So it was that Bob heaved up his meat against Jesus, whom just smiled at him and turned the other cheek. In truth, he wished Bob well, for no mortal creature could survive what was to come.  
As one, all the angels in heaven broke out in a song of religious value and effort, for Bob's jungle cock was to be thwarted and utterly crushed by the one power that has that power - to defeat the jungle cock.

Cock Absolutum - that most sacred of sacred items and objects. So sacred that it should not be!

Jesus' suede gear burst asunder in furious ejaculations, and whence there was dark blue, now there was Cock Absolutum. So massive that it normally took the savior's entire strength of will to contain, so perfect and almighty that mortal men melted upon hearing its name mentioned on the wind - of change! Now it was unleashed - the size of all sizes - all veins, all ridges, all pulsing light and cervix-slammer!

Bob did not falter! Indeed, he was not someone who would ever give up.  
Butterfly in hand, he descended on the Cock Absolutum. With each slice, flesh parted, yet no matter how much of it he chopped away, the Cock Absolutum remained as stout as ever! Indeed, it was as if his attempts to minimize it only added to its size, for such is the power of Cock Absolutum - the more you gawk, the bigger it gets!

He had been defeated; it was obvious, and so had space. Cock Absolutum had plowed straight through the universe, and replaced the god-given reality with its own - one where only cocks dwell. Jungle cocks, the true children of Cock Absolutum.

The universal force that not even god could tame. In fact, Cock Absolutum was the sole reason behind god's existence.

Yes, there was no need for pimping' modifications, skater-slang, whitey-capping bullets, honkies, potato chips, cunts, tits, pussies, twats, knockers, breasts, vaginas, or even niggers. The Cock Absolutum had been unleased, and it would stay unchained, unbowed, and unbroken for evermore, and thenceforth, as the true mount of the knights of the apocalypse.

Universal peace was no more, and Bob soon found himself absorbed by the Cock Absolutum, so that its long-lost child could come home once more, to join its essence to that of the one true cock.  
The master cock.

From this story we learn that cocks are superior to religion, since no one needs those when you've got a handy source of orgasms close, ready, and ever waiting.

-

VT2 - 2006


	7. Jesus drives Hammerfall

* * *

Jesus drives Hammerfall - to a concert! 

-

Sonicland, three-hundred years before the coming of Christ.

Contrary to popular belief, Jesus was active way, way, way before the coming of Christ. You know, since he's not Jesus. Christ has nothing to do with Jesus, jungle cocks, jungle tits, Bible blitz, or anything for that matter, christ.

Christ, why can't you see the light at the end of the tunnel?

Anyway!  
It is a metal concert! In Sonicland!

"Are you ready, Sonicland!?" the voice belongs to none other than Joacim Cans, singer for Hammerfall - the one true metal! Clad in a suit of the darkest of the dark iron, a chainsaw mounted in his crotch, and with a shotgun guitar, with spikes coming out of it. His chosen weapon, however, is not the guitar, no, that's merely for show - but his microphone; the most divine tool of them all. In the form of a spiked hammer, with an axe-head mounted on it, for good measure, and more studs than can be counted. "We're gonna show you what being metal's all about!"

This is when the crowd, which is rather mindless and dronelike, decides to cheer like crazy.

"For a metal heart," Oscar Dronjak, backup vocalist and lead guitarist, gets into a comfortable dragonslayer pose, his scalemail-slash-jeans 'armor' gleaming in the night, platemail pants and cast-iron tie reflecting the pale moonlight in all directions. He, too, has a chainsaw mounted in his crotch, because that's the only way to be true - metal! "is hard to tear apart!"

The cheers grow even louder, and Cans decides to grind his crotch against the stage, an act which showers the audience in sparks. One's lit on fire, but pays it no mind, since - hey! - she's in the presence of the metal kings!

Out of the darkness steps Magnus Rosén, dressed like a true metal bassplayer - instrument shaped like a sword of power. His tie's black, with yellow stripes, and made from the purest titanium. It's been scratched, so the metal shows through the universal warning-label that's yellow on black. The pants he wears aren't really pants at all - rather, they're assless chaps made from stainless Swedish steel.  
He lets out a ferocious battlecry, that must not be repeated, for fear that we'll all be cursed by the metal that is true.

As the clouds part above, and the moonlight is allowed real passing, everyone's treated to a small glint of Anders Johansson, safely contained behind his trusty drums - sticks replaced by spiked, iron maces. Drums covered in yellow-black duct-tape, and fitted with bolts, studs, spikes, and gold - lots of gold.  
He shows zero skin, and the abuse of bolts, studs, spikes, and gold - lots of gold, are repeated on his steel outfit.

Stefan Elmgren, proudest of the lot, then steps forward, belching smoke from a visor crafted from solid iron, a guitar shaped like a mighty hammer of thunder and vikings everywhere safely held in his iron-clad hands.  
His crotch is different from the others, to symbolize the cleansing sound of his supreme guitar-playing. Four-barreled flamethrower, each barrel shaped like a skull, and emitting even more smoke than his visor.

"Silent screaming!" Cans kicks things off, and all four not confined behind drums grind their crotches against the stage, "you're on your own! Balancing on a blade between what's right and what is wrong!" a total of twelve fucking people catch fire, then they're ran into the ground by those behind. Everyone, excluding the band, performs twin metal-signs with their hands.

"Don't lose your faith," the drums grow intense, and people start collapsing, "don't sit there in silence! Show your strength, let's hail the metal gods. Bare your heart!" Stefan lets loose a fiery display from his crotch, while the rest of the band performs an illegally large number of dragonslayers. The entire front-seat is engulfed in purifying flames of the truest of the true metal. "All for one, our burning hearts will live forever!" as if on cue, Stefan torches another couple of fans. "One for all, together standing strong!"

Can then folds his arms across his chest, and proceeds to headbang like a true pro, while the rest of the band chants in a very monotone fashion.  
"Hammerfall!" Stefan leads them. "we will prevail!" Cans grinds his saw against the stage, while maintaining his constant headbanging. "Hammerfall! Let us hail!"

-

From this story, we learn that religion is not a substitute for being true. Even if he wanted to, Jesus could not teach you the fine arts of being either metal or true.  
It's a man-thing, so don't expect to get it if you don't have a dick. Suffice to say that it involves: roadies, guitars, fist-fights, leather, spikes, studs, bolts, flames, beer, beards, shaved heads, angry faces, dire screams, banshee-like wails, blackness, darkness, epicness, tits, moshing, bare-chested men, bare-chested women, drums, lyrics, angry shouts, tinnitus, more tinnitus, bass, and tiny pieces of plastic.

Go with god - rather, the gods of metal! The metal gods! Manowar! Forget Jesus.  
Hail! All hail! Hail and kill!

-

VT2 - 2006


End file.
